


There Falls Thy Light

by Violsva



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mourning, Post-The Gift of the Emperor, raffles week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: The feast is finished and the lamps expired.





	

It was rare indeed in these days to see me in the parts of town I had once—I won’t say adorned, for in my current state I could not be said to adorn anything, and even back then there was some doubt. These days I was barely even seen outside my garret; if I wanted entertainment I could get it sitting in a park or on a street-corner, at least until a constable waved me on my way again. Yet all winter I did as best I could to hold onto my meagre earnings, for the sake of one day in March when I hoped to have a drink, though a solitary one, at the finest place I wouldn’t get thrown out of.

I was in some fear that I would be recognized by a former friend, but I consoled myself that they certainly would not wish to know me, and so would not draw me into humiliating conversation. And indeed I was hardly recognizable by now, I thought—eighteen months in and few meals once out will do many things to a man’s complexion, none of them complimentary.

So I entered the establishment, meeting only with a disdainful sniff from the doorman, and took the liberty of glancing around. None of the faces I saw struck me as familiar, for which I thanked God; with a more careful glance I confirmed it. I was thus free to sit at the bar, a little distance from anyone else, and order a wine that any man with even the basest palate would have scorned; but which was still finer than any I had tasted in years.

I knew the bar was well below the class of those I had used to frequent; I knew myself to be the worst-dressed and worst-appearing man there; I knew I would not be able to order another glass, or leave a tip worthy of the name. But I _was_ there, for once, and I let the wine breathe on the counter for a minute as I savoured this reminder of my thrown-away past. I could imagine myself slumming here, about to be joined by some loud top-hatted friends who would stand out in dim gambling hells like peacocks in a farmyard. I imagined myself out trawling, in some past where I was well-dressed and handsome enough not to be rejected at the first word. I imagined myself celebrating with my friend and partner, in the first bar we came to after a successful job, knowing we would return to the Albany and comfort and Sullivans and good whiskey. For, of course, he was why I was here. Glancing around, I made sure I was out of earshot, and no one was looking at me.

I raised my glass to the spotted mirror behind the bar. “To Raffles,” I murmured, “you old devil!” For he might well be the cause of my ruin, but before that he’d been my salvation, and always he was the spark and thrill my life lacked without him. When I’d had money, I hadn’t realized what I was looking for; now that I lacked it I knew what I was missing, and knew as well that, harsh as my privations were, money could now do little for me. It was Raffles that I wanted, and everything Raffles meant to me, and Raffles was now at the bottom of the Mediterranean. All that was left for me were cheap journal articles and remembrances, and the taunting knowledge that I could never on my own find anything more. I drained my glass.


End file.
